


Seconds, Minutes, Hours

by forthedefenseyourhonor



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Mention of Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 17:01:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6762511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forthedefenseyourhonor/pseuds/forthedefenseyourhonor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foggy comes to terms with the irrevocably changed nature of his relationship with Matt after the revelation that his best friend is Daredevil.<br/>[Post-season 2]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seconds, Minutes, Hours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Varuni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varuni/gifts).



> written for [Varuni](http://littlethingsofvenom.tumblr.com) who asked for something to make Matt and Foggy realise how much they need each other in the wake of season 2; fluff with a ~~pinch~~ bucket of angst and a hopeful, happy ending. I hope this fits the bill!  
>  _ad astra per aspera_

 Foggy awoke with a start, his breathing ragged and shallow. Scrambling to the edge of the bed, he grabbed his phone from the cabinet and frantically jabbed at the screen to unlock it. He squinted at the dazzling blue rectangle in the sea of blackness. No new messages. No missed calls. He let out a shaky sigh and flopped back down on to the pillows. Foggy dug his knuckles into his eyes and recalled the dream. He had been busy working, pulling long hours in the office for a case, determined to make the best of the new start he’d been offered with HC&B. That was nothing out of the ordinary and not far removed from his real life; he was regularly working more than 60 hours a week these days. But in the dream his phone had buzzed and Matt’s name had flashed up on the screen. He had ignored it. Too much work to do, too many cases to research to be getting drawn into whatever mess Matt had gotten himself into this time. He had switched his phone to silent and slipped it into his briefcase. Hours had passed in the dream world – or maybe it was merely minutes? He had decided to call it a night and when he looked at his phone again the screen had been filled with missed calls, text messages, and voice mails from Matt, Karen, and Claire. He unlocked his phone to begin sifting through the notifications when a television in the lobby that played the 24 hour news channel on a silent loop caught his eye. There, in the technicolour glory of his dream, had been his deepest, darkest fear. A Hell’s Kitchen alley, cordoned off with yards of police tape, unnamed figures roving around the scene in protective body suits, and on the ground a blood-stained white sheet hiding what was unmistakably a body. The headline, plastered in red and yellow across the bottom of the screen: DAREDEVIL GUNNED DOWN IN GANGLAND WAR. It was then that he’d woken up, cold with sweat. He sighed again and blinked slowly. The softly glowing green numbers of his clock burned into his retinas. 4:56 am.  

 _“He doesn’t need you,”_ Foggy told himself as he closed his eyes.

The imprints of the numbers were scorched on the insides of his eyelids and they were the last things he saw before he drifted back into fitful sleep.

* * *

 

The dream, which he had hoped would be a one-off experience, had soon become part of a series of recurring nightmares. Matt shot in an alley, Matt stabbed in a drug den, Matt dropped off a roof. His subconscious endeavoured to construct new and horrible ways for him to witness his best friend’s death that continued to plague him as he waited in line at the coffee shop. _Ex-best friend_ , he corrected himself. The thought twisted like a knife in his gut. Not that he would know how that felt. Matt probably did. Foggy shook himself slightly and tried to redirect his thoughts to happier pastures. He already spent his nights dreaming about Matt, he didn’t need to spend his mornings thinking about him as well. He smiled at the barista, bought his coffee and bagel to go (soy latte and cinnamon and raisin), and continued on his way to work. It was a beautiful spring morning; the type that comes along after a long spell of wind and rain to remind you that summer is just around the corner, only to plunge you back into the wet and cold the very next day. Foggy glanced at his watch. 7:33 am. He was running a little early and so decided to make the most of every last drop of sun he could. He swerved around the queue of bustling commuters making their way into the subway station and settled in to a casual stroll to the office. The breeze lifting his hair was still cool and brought with it the faintest scent of roses in bloom. Smiling, Foggy sipped at his coffee and pinched a small chunk off of his bagel. Ahead of him, a group of school children were milling about on the sidewalk. He quickly looked both ways and jogged across the street to go around them. They were elementary school age, all wearing comically oversized hi-vis vests, and babbling loudly and excitedly about whatever they were on their way to do. A bird jabbered loudly in a tree overhead before diving into a bush further along the path. Foggy drank in everything around him. New York in spring reminded him of everything he loved about this city. It even wiped away the memories of just a few weeks previously when he had been wrapped up tightly in a wool coat and knitted hat, scarf, and mittens against the biting cold. He breathed deeply, feeling a sense of stillness among the sounds and sights of a city coming back to life.

His momentary peace was shattered whilst he waited to cross at an intersection. As he stood rocking gently on the balls of his feet, he heard the tell-tale tapping of a cane on the pavement. Instinctively, his head snapped around to spot the source of the sound. His heart leapt into his throat and then, as he spotted the young girl moving towards him with her cane in one hand and the other hooked gently around her mother’s elbow, felt it sink all the way back past its usual spot and settle somewhere around his gut. Not Matt after all. He had no idea what he would say to Matt if they ran into one another on the street but, no matter how strenuously he tried to deny it, Foggy couldn’t escape that he missed Matt more than anything. He sighed and buttoned his suit jacket against the breeze that just moments ago had been refreshing but now felt bitter and cold. The pedestrian lights changed and Foggy hurried the rest of the way to the office.

* * *

 

Foggy’s cheeks ached from laughing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed this much or when he’d last been quite so drunk. Karen’s cheeks were flushed pink, her hair tumbling over her shoulders and the back of Foggy’s couch. She hiccoughed slightly as her giggles subsided and she poured another finger of scotch into both their glasses.

“I’ve missed this, Foggy. I’ve missed you,” Karen’s laugh faded to be replaced by a soft note of sadness. “Where have you been?”

Foggy shrugged and offered a wan smile.

“Well, you know these big-shot lawyer types…work hard, play hard and all that,” he sipped his scotch and fiddled absent-mindedly with a strand of hair. “You know when you start somewhere new and it feels like you can’t turn down any invitations because you wanna make a good impression? And then there was Marci as well, I didn’t want to embarrass or disappoint her. Not after she did so much for me…”

His voice trailed off. He had not seen Karen in months. He had been busy being thrown in at the deep end at a prestigious law firm and she had been rapidly making a name for herself as a tenacious investigative reporter at the _Bulletin_. Foggy had kept an eye on Karen’s bylines, of course. In the couple of months that she’d been under Ellison’s wing she’d moved quickly from a couple of inches in the depths of the paper up to whole columns in the front few pages. As she sat with her legs curled up underneath her on his couch Foggy marvelled at everything Karen had been through and how she’d managed to come out the other side even stronger than before. Their eyes met momentarily over the unsaid things hanging between them. Foggy almost opened his mouth, thought better of it, and then had the decision taken out of his hands altogether as Karen spoke quickly instead.

“So, have you heard from Matt?”

Foggy knocked back the last of his drink and shook his head. He swallowed.

“Have you?”

“Not for a while,” she gave a noncommittal shrug, “I mean, I’ve _seen_ him but we haven’t spoken properly since Nels- uh, not since we left the office.”

Foggy nodded and moved his glass from palm to palm. He suddenly felt very heavy and tired. The sort of tiredness that could not be fixed by a good night’s sleep. He blinked and gave a small sniff, looking into the kitchen, away from where Karen sat. The microwave clock showed 1:36 am.

“It’s late,” he said, grabbing the bottle from the table and squeezing the cork back into the neck though there was not much liquid left in the bottom. “I have an absolute _mountain_ of case files to get through tomorrow.”

Karen was gracious enough not to argue, though she lingered a moment in the doorway.

“He misses you too, y’know.”

Her eyes were piercing and so Foggy avoided her gaze.

“Yeah, well, he knows where I am,” he mumbled, letting the bitterness of these past few months and his stubborn streak get the better of him.

Karen gave a weak chuckle and pulled Foggy into a hug.

“Don’t forget that you know where he is, too,” she whispered.

They broke apart and Karen gave small wave as she headed down the stairs. Foggy watched from the window to make sure she got safely into a cab. The car pulled away from the curb and he turned away from the window. He rubbed his eyes and headed towards the bedroom, wondering which version of Matt’s death he would be treated to in his dreams tonight.

* * *

 

Foggy fell into bed, feeling an overwhelming sense of melancholy. Fortunately, the scotch sent him almost immediately to sleep and he had slipped seemingly straight into another dream. He had found himself alone in his apartment, cooking dinner or reading case files – he couldn’t recall. It didn’t matter. He had practically jumped out of his skin at a loud rapping sound from the window and there, perched on the fire escape, had been Matt. The helmet obscured the top of his face but his mouth had been drawn into that smug grin that Foggy had always told himself he hated, though he knew that was nothing close to the truth. The window was open before he knew what was happening and Matt had slunk in, making his way across the living room to where Foggy stood in three long strides.

There had been no talking. No fumbling apologies or tender reconciliation. Matt had pushed off his helmet, letting it fall to the floor with a dull thud, and plunged one hand into Foggy’s hair. He had smelled of the cold night air and sweat and, oddly, the roses that used to bloom every spring at Columbia. Though Foggy had not seen Matt for months, his mind still managed to construct every detail of his face in painful perfection. The whorl of stubble on his jaw; the way his lips parted as though he’d paused for breath in the midst of laughter; the way his gaze fell around Foggy’s mouth. Their lips met, gently at first and then with an increasing urgency as Matt’s free hand made its way to Foggy’s belt. He undid the buckle with ease and slid a teasing finger along the waistband of Foggy’s underwear, dragging his lips across Foggy’s jaw and onto his throat. Everything had seemed to be moving simultaneously in slow motion and faster than Foggy could process what was happening. Matt was working his way down Foggy’s front, leaving a trail of kisses across his chest and stomach, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. Suddenly – or was it finally? – Matt was down on one knee, one hand on Foggy’s hip and the other moving down his inner thigh, spreading his legs slightly. Matt tilted his chin back towards Foggy’s face, flashing that self-satisfied grin and cocking his head to one side as he tugged Foggy free of his underwear. Matt’s lips were on his thighs then – kissing, sucking, biting – and Foggy let out a low moan. He reached out a hand to push the hair back from Matt’s face and then **_SLAM!_ ** Foggy jolted awake as his upstairs neighbour let her front door swing shut, the paper-thin walls amplifying the sound throughout the whole building. He was breathing hard and took a couple of seconds to steady himself before wriggling free from the sweaty tangle he’d managed to work his sheets into. Perching on the edge of the bed he listened to the heels clicking unsteadily on the floor upstairs. He put his face into his hands and sighed. It had been a very long time since he’d dreamt about Matt like that. Years, maybe. Foggy pressed his fingers into his eyes, willing the images from his subconscious to fade away. Light was beginning to claw its way around the edge of the curtains. He huffed a sigh and glanced at the clock. 5:28 am. There was little point in trying to get more sleep when he had so much work to do. He stifled a yawn, hauled himself to his feet, and stretched before heading towards the shower.

He stood under the stream of hot water for a long time, eyes closed, remembering. He remembered how Matt used to smile shyly when Foggy would force him to go out to celebrate a good grade. The way he would grin in a way that would look goofy on anyone else whenever they had sat together and watched a movie that Foggy would talk the entire way through to make sure that Matt wasn’t missing out on any of the details. He remembered New Year’s Eve in their final year at Columbia that they’d spent drinking apple schnapps on Matt’s bed. How the clock tower had struck midnight...and that smirk playing around Matt’s lips as he’d said they simply _had_ to have a New Year’s kiss. He wondered if Matt ever thought about those moments, if they had even been real for him. Foggy’s insides roiled with anger and hurt. He was angry at Matt and he was angry at himself for still caring. He finished getting ready quickly and hurried out of the apartment, desperate to leave behind the dregs of his conversation with Karen and his dreams and the memories that, once so precious, he wished he could forget forever.

* * *

 

Foggy had never been more grateful for a full case load. He was starting early and finishing late every day, even working most of his weekends. He’d had no time for socialising for weeks apart from occasionally managing to grab lunch with Marci from the deli by the office. But no free time meant no time for his mind to wander back to Matt. When he got home each night he fell straight into bed and slept the night through, too exhausted for dreams. A new week began, bringing with it the first days that felt like summer. Foggy had started his Monday in much the same way as he always did: a cheery exchange with the old man putting out that morning’s newspapers; a smile and some gentle flirting with his favourite barista at the coffee shop; a sense of pride as he stepped into the elevator at work. The cool female voice announced that he had reached his floor and the doors slid open, where Foggy was met by a quizzical look from Marci.

“Foggy!” she recovered quickly and flashed a dazzling smile as Foggy walked out of the elevator, “What are you doing here?”

“Uhh...” Foggy suddenly had a horrible feeling that he was in a version of one of those nightmares where you turn up naked to an exam you didn’t know you had until 10 minutes previously. “I work here? Remember?”

Marci rolled her eyes.

“I know that, dummy, but your calendar says you’ve got this week booked off. All your cases were handed off to Velasquez.”

“Oh, shit, yeah...”

Foggy’s voice trailed off. He ran a hand absent-mindedly through his hair.

“Uh, well...I guess I’ll be seeing you next week then!”

He gave a mock salute and turned on his heel. Marci laughed.

“Take it easy, Foggy Bear.”

Foggy called the elevator and fiddled with his tie as he waited for it to come back down from one of the upper floors. He had completely forgotten about booking a week off. He was fairly certain he’d arranged it when he’d started at HC&B just to take advantage of the novelty of paid vacation days. He hopped back into the elevator and contemplated how he could spend his 160 hours of unadulterated freedom. First up, he decided, was a change of clothes and an ice cream in the park.

A little over an hour later, Foggy was in shorts and a baseball shirt with an ice cream in his hand and his legs stretched out on the grass. Admittedly, he’d had to buy the ice cream from a chest freezer in a bodega rather than a stand in the park because, as he’d been vehemently reminded by the shopkeeper, “ _who in their right mind wants soft serve ice cream at 9:08 am?”_ but he was satisfied nonetheless. The day was already warm and the sun was climbing ever higher into the cloudless blue sky. He polished off his ice cream with a satisfied hum, smiling to himself at the thought of the telling-off he’d get from his mother if she caught him eating ice cream for a second breakfast. Struck suddenly by inspiration, he stood up. Foggy had not been home to visit his parents in months. In fact, he’d been so busy he’d barely spoken to them since Christmas. He dropped his litter into the nearest trash can and ambled idly towards the subway. He stopped at a florist along the way to pick up a bouquet as a way of apologising for being a less-than-perfect son recently. It was with a slight pang that he remembered how he had snapped at his mom the last time they had spoken on the phone when she had brought up the demise of Nelson & Murdock. He picked up a bunch of roses; delicate pinks and rich reds, the petals still wrapped tightly over one another ready to bloom. As the flowers moved and their fragrance reached his nose, Foggy paused. Roses were romantic, he thought. More than that, they reminded him of Matt. He dropped the bouquet back into the bucket they came from and stood back, taking in the rest of the flowers on offer. He opted instead for a bunch of sunflowers. Foggy paid the florist and carried on his way, trying to put the thoughts of the roses out of his mind.

By mid-morning Foggy was settled back in his spot on the couch at his parents’ house with a mug of coffee and a slice of his mom’s signature lemon drizzle cake. His mom bustled in the kitchen arranging the sunflowers in a vase, humming to herself as she went. Foggy smiled to himself and sipped his coffee as his mom came back into the room and placed the vase on the table, stepping back to admire her handiwork.

“They’re beautiful, Franklin! I was just thinking yesterday that I could do with getting some more colour in here!”

Foggy smiled and popped a forkful of cake into his mouth.

“So,” she said, “how’s the new job treating you?”

Foggy made a small noncommittal noise.

“They’re keeping me busy. It’s nice, though. Plus,” he polished off the last mouthful of cake, “I’m on my way to being out of debt, rather than plunging further into it, so that’s a pleasant change.”

His mom smiled and sank into the chair by the open window. They sat in contented silence for a few minutes. The sounds of Hell’s Kitchen drifted in, muffled slightly by the rising heat of the day.

“What’s Matt getting up to these days?”

Foggy tensed at the suddenness of the question.

“Um,” he placed his empty mug back down on the table, “we haven’t really spoken since...y’know...”

His voice trailed off and, out of the corner of his eye, Foggy saw his mother roll her eyes.

“Franklin, when are the two of you going to sort this nonsense out?”

Her brow furrowed slightly.

“The two of you were so good together and,” she cut promptly across the interrupting noise Foggy had begun to make, “I know things might not have worked out with the firm but that doesn’t mean you should throw away what the two of you had together!”

Foggy mouthed silently for a moment.

“It’s...it’s more complicated than that, mom,” he rubbed his eyes.

His mom gave an exasperated sigh and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

“I just worry about you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you happier than when the two of you used to spend summers here.”

Foggy met her eyes for a moment. He remembered sunny evenings spent up on the roof with his family and the neighbours, enjoying as the twilight let the heat of the day fall away. He and Matt had been almost inseparable in those college summers and there had been moments when he thought, or maybe just hoped, that there was something more between them. His mind strayed further and he remembered again that New Year’s Eve: Matt’s hand on the side of his neck with one thumb tracing delicately along his jaw, guiding Matt’s lips to Foggy’s; how Matt’s mouth had tasted of apples; and how they’d carried on smiling even as they kissed. He blinked away the memories, annoyed at himself that they held such a special place in his heart despite everything Matt had put him through.

“Look,” his mother placed a gentle hand on his knee, “I’m not gonna pry into what went on between the two of you and if you really, really think you can’t work it out then that’s up to you, but you cared a lot about that boy, Franklin, and I know he cared about you.”

Foggy gave a defeated sigh and looked up to meet his mom’s gaze again. There was a crease between her brows and he was not sure he’d ever seen her look more sincerely concerned.

“You’re right...I’ll...We’ll sort it out...”

His mother smiled and pushed herself up from the armchair.

She ruffled his hair and said, “So, are you staying for lunch then?”

Foggy nodded and flopped back on the couch, trying to work out what it was that he really wanted.

* * *

 

The sun was high in the sky, beating down on Foggy’s shoulders as he dithered on the stoop outside Matt’s apartment. He had rehearsed a thousand different versions of how this interaction would go over the past few days he’d spent at home but nothing seemed to be coming to him now he’d finally plucked up the courage to come to Matt’s home. He ran a hand through his hair, cursed, and turned on his heel, trying desperately to clear his mind.

“Foggy?”

His breath caught in his throat as Foggy turned to see Matt standing at the foot of the steps in front of him. He had his cane gripped tightly between both hands, the way he did when he was anxious or angry. It was hard to tell which applied here. Matt looked leaner than the last time Foggy had seen him; ragged and rough around the edges. Bruises were turning purple and yellow around his left eye socket and jaw. He began to make his way up the steps, favouring his right side very slightly.

“You, uh, wanna come up?”

He stopped alongside Foggy, his posture defiant and his shirt and tie well turned-out, despite the rest of his appearance.

“Yeah, if it’s not inconvenient or whatever.”

The corner of Matt’s mouth twitched as Foggy stepped aside to let him open the door to the building, berating himself for his complete lack of conviction and composure. Together they trooped up the stairs in stony silence. Matt unlocked the door and stood back to let Foggy enter in front of him. The high ceilings of Matt’s apartment kept the rooms relatively cool but Foggy still removed his jacket against the summer heat and placed it on a hook as Matt collapsed his cane and dropped it onto a table by the door. He didn’t remove his glasses. Everything seemed to stand still for a moment as they sized one another up.

“Foggy...” Matt started.

“Matt, look,” Foggy cut across him, desperate to at least attempt one of his prepared speeches, “I can’t _do_ this anymore. I get it, I really do. This is who you are, but I can’t just live my life separate from you, waiting for the day I see you dead or arrested on the news.”

He paused for breath; Matt twitched his head as though he were about to speak.

“I’m still pissed at you,” Foggy took a deep breath, “but I miss you. I can’t help it. I worry about you every minute of every day and I guess I just figured it was time to come and tell you that.”

Foggy’s voice trailed off feebly and he gave a shrug.

“I just...” he sniffed, fighting the tears he knew were desperate to come. “I just need to know if you ever even cared about me, Matt.”

He looked up. Matt’s face seemed in suspended animation.

“Y’know, I have all these memories of our friendship and they _mean_ something to me, Matt – were they even real to you?”

Tears stung in the corners of his eyes now. Months of anguish and anger and bitterness were bubbling to the surface, desperate to make their way out in the form of spiteful words but Foggy bit his tongue and swallowed his pride.

“Foggy, I...” Matt’s voice was choked as he stepped closer, within touching distance. Foggy thought he caught the faintest hint of rose blossom.

“I’ve been an idiot,” he removed his glasses, placing them on the side table and taking another step closer to Foggy. The bruises on his face looked worse this close up.

“I ruined...us and,” his voice wavered, on the verge of breaking, “I’ve regretted it. Every minute, every second since I walked away from Nelson & Murdock. By the time I realised what I’d done it was too late and I didn’t think you wanted me back in your life, so I stayed away.”

His lip trembled.

“I, uh, nearly bumped into you one time, a couple of months ago now,” Matt’s eyes fell to rest his gaze somewhere around Foggy’s chin. “You were walking to work, I thought about approaching you but you seemed so happy and I didn’t want to ruin that.”

He inhaled sharply and raised one hand half-way up to his head before letting it fall to his side again.

“Ah, that’s bullshit, I didn’t approach you because I was scared. I wanted to so badly but I just...I couldn’t handle you walking away from me.”

Matt’s breaths were shaky and shallow, his head hung and shoulders rounded. Despite the sheets of hard muscle he managed to look small. He gave a wet-sounding sniff.

“Foggy, I’m so sorry.”

Suddenly, all the rage and shame and misery that had burned as embers in his chest for months were extinguished and all Foggy knew was that he wanted Matt back. It wasn’t logical but he knew then that this was why he hadn’t been able to let go of his feelings and move on. This was why he’d spent weeks on end dreaming of Matt night after night. Why had he been so stubborn? Why hadn’t he come around sooner?

Foggy ran one hand up Matt’s arm and then pulled him into a hug. An instant of tension and then Matt softened, burying his face into Foggy’s collar and stifling a small sob. They stayed that way for a few moments, Foggy running his thumb back and forth along the seam running along Matt’s shoulder. He could feel a thick band of scar tissue underneath the heavy material of the dress shirt. Matt’s breathing evened out slowly and he loosened his grip on Foggy, his posture defiant again as he relinquished from the embrace, as though daring Foggy to laugh at him.

“I, uh, hadn’t really planned this far ahead in this interaction...what’s the standard protocol for making up with your asshole best friend?” Foggy said smiling, attempting to break the tension the only way he knew how.

Matt gave a choked laugh. His gaze was still lingering around Foggy’s mouth but his expression was unfocused and slack.

“Maybe this?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Matt’s hand was on the side of his neck again, his fingers warm and his thumb brushing Foggy’s Adam’s apple. Memories of that cold winter night bloomed afresh in Foggy’s mind: the sound of fireworks and the chiming of the clock tower; the taste of apple schnapps still fresh on his lips; and Matt’s touch, gentle but firm. And suddenly here, in the present, Matt’s lips met Foggy’s again. Matt closed the gap between their bodies, his fingers coiled into Foggy’s hair, his other hand roaming from Foggy’s hip up onto his belly and tracing its way up his chest. Foggy worked Matt’s tie loose and slipped it away from the collar. They broke apart momentarily, catching breath. Foggy could hear his heart thundering in his ears; he supposed Matt must be able to hear it too. Matt smiled and then they were kissing again. Matt stepped forward, navigating Foggy towards the bedroom and peeling the t-shirt from him as they went. Foggy’s fingers worked quickly down the front of Matt’s shirt, undoing the buttons with ease and tugging the shirt free from his pants. The back of Foggy’s knees met Matt’s bed as he pushed the shirt off over Matt’s shoulders and broke away from his lips to kiss along his collar bone and neck. Matt let out a low rasping breath and pushed Foggy backwards onto the mattress. Foggy propped himself up on his elbows. Matt had that smug grin plastered across his face as he kicked off his shoes and began to unbuckle his belt. Foggy felt a throb of arousal at the base of his cock. He let his eyes roam over Matt’s body as his pants fell to the floor, his erection straining against the front of his boxers. His skin was stretched taut over the powerful muscles; he’d lost any remaining shred of fat that had been present last time Foggy had seen him in this state of undress. A huge dark patch of blacks and purples covered his ribs and it became apparent why Matt had been favouring his right side. Foggy’s gaze found the scars as well, too numerous to count, some were stark white and fading whilst others were still red and raw-looking. Matt nudged Foggy’s legs apart with his knee and hovered momentarily above him. Foggy traced a finger gently over one of the long scars on Matt’s abdomen, recalling how he’d watched anxiously as Claire stitched it shut. That night seemed such a distant memory now, as though it were not truly his own.

“You sure you wanna do this? You’re hurt.”

He didn’t need medical training to guess that the ribs beneath that bruising were broken. Matt let out a short laugh and inclined his head.

“I’ve had worse.”

Foggy smiled despite himself as Matt’s lips brushed over his ear and down his neck as he undid Foggy’s shorts. He slid himself further up the bed appreciating for the first time the silk sheets Matt spent a small fortune on. Matt hooked his fingers under the elastic of Foggy’s boxers and relieved him of them in one smooth movement, grinning. He swung one leg over both of Foggy’s and landed firmly straddling his thighs.

“Do you remember that New Year’s Eve at Columbia?”

Matt punctuated his words kisses moving ever lower across Foggy’s belly and stroking lazily up the length of his dick. Foggy let out a low moan.

“Y-yeah,” he gasped.

“Well, this was kind of how I imagined that evening going...except I chickened out.”

Foggy gave a laugh, cut short as his breath hitched as Matt took hold of his cock and jerked him once, slowly. The smile had slipped a little from his face, replaced by a look of focused determination.

“So, what made you finally pluck up the courage, Murdock?”

A smirk crept back onto Matt’s lips.

“You know what they call me these days? _The Man without Fear_ ,” he raised one eyebrow, “I figured it was time for me to live up to the name.”


End file.
